Page 1 of Hidden & Held

1

PHOENIX

The bell chimes as I walk into the Snow-Inn Diner, taking a seat in the back booth. It smells like coffee and griddle grease, providing the comfort of a place that has not changed its menu in twenty years. Lena sees me and holds one finger—one second—before disappearing toward the kitchen.

I find our normal booth in the back and pull out the Castellanos file. I don’t need to review it, I could recite the custody timeline in my sleep. Victor Yarrow, Lena’s ex, is only in their son Liam’s life when it is convenient. He’s missed pickups, forgotten birthdays, not to mention the unpaid child support. The Yarrow name means something in this town. It carries the weight of local money with the kind of business practices that nobody asks too many questions about.

This is the type of case I took the job for. Cascadia Legal Partners lets us take on one pro-bono client a year using the full company resources as if it was a billable customer. It’s one of the reasons that made my eighty-hour work weeks feel like I was accomplishing something.

Lena reappears with two coffees and a plate of fries, sliding into the seat across from me, vinyl leather creaking under her weight. “Sorry, table six wanted to design their entire meal and was furious when I told them they ordered the special.”

“No worries.” I take a sip of the coffee and get right to it. “We have a strong case against your son’s father. You’ve documented extended absences, inconsistent financial support, and teachers are willing to testify that Liam has a stable, loving home with you.”

Lena glances past me to where Liam sits two booths over, counting out numbers on his fingers as he makes notes down on his paper.

“If this escalates, your name could come up. We need to stay ahead of that,” I continue.

His life has already absorbed too much disruption from his father’s erratic drop-ins. His dark brown hair is nothing like Lena’s honey-streaked brown, but the rest of him is hers. The light blue eyes. The single dimple in his left cheek.

“Thanks, Phoenix. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She means it. This is the part of my job that still makes sense. Lena stands up, surprising me by coming to my side of the table and giving me a hug. “You look tired, Phoenix,” she comments, not unkindly.

“I don’t really have time to be tired right now.” I laugh in response.

Lena looks at me a moment too long, then squeezes my shoulder once before she heads back to work behind the counter. I finish my notes, eat some of the fries, and close my laptop.

As I watch Lena check on her son, something in my chest pulls tight in a way that has nothing to do with this case. Family law is brutal. But necessary.

I sip my third coffee of the day and stifle a yawn. My caseload is heavy and time consuming. Keeping up our billable hours is always difficult, but it has received more scrutiny recently. The overtime helps me pay off my loans, but does nothing for my social life, or lack thereof.

If it weren’t for my Zentrology girls, I would never get out. “Zentrology,” a term made up by Mackenzie Burke, is defined as the mellow belief in astrology, purely for mindfulness, or what my friend Nessa calls “chill.” Whatever that means. I don’t believe in astrology or the rest of the woo-woo stuff Nessa pushes on us, but I’ve read enough to notice and experience patterns. As if on cue, I receive a buzz.

Becca

Ladies, you will never believe what I found left in the cabin I was cleaning.

Mack

Ooooo let me try, a bag of cash, a ski mask, and some fake passports? I always thought your cabin would be an excellent hideout spot.

Nessa

I’m thinking you rented it out to an amateur taxidermist, and he left a horribly done squirrel?

Becca

Nope, you are both wrong. Mid-thirties guy with a weird vibe; claimed he was an artist. He apparently left behind a self-portrait … done el natural.

Becca sends a photo of a terrible drawing of a man that looks like it could have been done by a five-year-old.

Mack

What am I looking at?

Nessa

Naïve style … I think. I was a substitute art teacher last week. Thank goodness he wasn’t into realism.